Authors: Ruth Owen
And the worst part of it was, he wasn’t even trying to seduce her. They’d had a wonderful time together,
but he hadn’t made one pass at her all afternoon—with the possible exception of the way he’d looked at her when she’d knelt beside him on the sand. The passion in his eyes had robbed her of breath … but she must have been mistaken. He’d been a model gentleman all afternoon, treating her more like a sister than a date. Dammit.
“Melanie! Get out here. Salad’s getting warm.”
“Eight times eight is sixty-four,” she murmured, relying once more on the sobering effect of the cold equations. She stepped into the dining room, determined to keep her emotions in check. She was certain she could. As long as she didn’t let herself touch him.
It took Chris a long time to finish lunch. Melanie’s culinary talents weren’t at fault; it was just that she wouldn’t let him stop talking long enough to take more than a few bites at a time. She wanted to hear everything about him: his hopes, his ambitions, even his failures. Chris, a born talker, complied by telling her stories of his youth that made her laugh out loud. Her laughter had a blurred, rusty edge to it, like a musical instrument kept too long in its case. More than anything else, he wanted to take the edge off her laughter.
She was laughing now. “So which was it? Did you tell your father you wanted to grow up to be an astronaut or a race-car driver?”
“Neither. I told him I wanted to be a surfer. That went over like a lead balloon, I can tell you.”
“You’re crazy,” she said, shaking her head. “Astronaut, surfer … how did you end up becoming a marketing representative/golfer?”
“Marketing rep’s just a fancy name for a salesman, and I’ve been cutting deals since I bought my first
pack of baseball cards. As for golf … well, that was Dad’s fault. He told me if I broke par I could use the company stretch limo to pick up my date for the junior prom.”
“Did you?”
Chris leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. “Mary Catherine Beakman was duly impressed.”
This time Melanie didn’t laugh. Instead she looked down at the table, avoiding his eyes. “I guess you’ve impressed a lot of women over the years.”
Back to the Sheffield gossip again, Chris thought ruefully. “I didn’t stop to count. Look, I’m not about to apologize for my past.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Right,” Chris said, obviously not believing her. “That’s why you keep bringing it up.”
Melanie looked up, meeting his gaze. Her eyes sparkled like dark jewels, taking his breath away. Lord, she could drive him crazy with just a look.
“I’m not bringing it up to remind you. I’m bringing it up to remind me.” She turned her attention back to the table, nervously fingering the edge of her napkin.
“Of what?” he asked, leaning closer. “Please, tell me.”
She started to fold her napkin into tight, tiny squares. “To remind me that, no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be like … Lily.”
Melanie’s answers often caught Chris off guard, but they’d never before struck him as insane. “Why in the world would you want to be like her?”
The squares became tighter, punctuating her words. “Because she’s pretty. She’s experienced. She knows everything I don’t know about … men.”
“Let me tell you something about Lily. She’s the coldest, most heartless person I’ve ever met. She
doesn’t know anything about men, since the only person she’s ever been interested in is herself. And as for being pretty … well, if she were to walk across this room stark naked, I wouldn’t look twice at her.”
Melanie’s hand stilled. She raised her eyes and gave Chris an incredulous look.
He grinned. “Okay, maybe I’d look. But that doesn’t mean I’d want anything to do with her.”
“You did.”
“Sure, once. Anyone can make a mistake. I’m sure you’ve dated a few winners over the years.”
The look in her eyes came and went so quickly that he almost missed it. A flash of sorrow, the memory of a wound so ancient, its pain had become a part of her anatomy. “My God,” he said softly. “You never dated?”
“Not ‘never,’ ” she said defensively. “Just not much. By the time I was twelve I’d skipped three grades. At fifteen I started college. I was so much younger than my classmates, we never really had much in common.”
The loneliness in her voice rubbed him raw. A girl with her figure wouldn’t have gone dateless ten minutes in his high school, brains or no. Her classmates should have had their eyes examined, not to mention their libidos.
“Anyway,” she continued, “it turned out for the best. I was able to really concentrate on my studies. After college I had my work. And then I had Einstein …”
A softness came into her eyes when she talked about her creation, a gentleness as sweet as a caress. Deep inside Chris an ache started, a longing for something he’d never known he was missing until this moment. He opened his mouth to speak,
but no words came. How could he ask for something he couldn’t name?
His silence must have made her nervous, for she glanced quickly in his direction. “Sorry,” she confessed. “I didn’t mean to go on like that. You must think I’m crazy.”
“Not crazy,” he said, searching for the words that he wanted—no, needed to say to her. “You’re … damn, this is difficult. You’d think with all the talking I’ve done in my life I’d be better at this.”
Melanie sat as still as stone, hardly daring to breathe. “Say it fast. Difficult things are easier to say if you say them fast.”
A stray sunbeam fell across her hair, streaking its smoky darkness with fire. He desperately wanted to reach out and bury his hands in that soft, deep fire, pulling her down in a soul-shattering embrace. But this was not the time. Questions filled her eyes, questions he needed to answer before anything could pass between them.
Love had always come to him like an ocean breeze—enjoyed for a moment but too elusive to hold. Now, for the first time in his life, he wanted to catch the wind.
“Look,” he told her, “I’m going to change clothes and get cleaned up. Then we’ll go out for drinks. We’ll talk. Okay?”
Melanie nodded. “You don’t have to, though. I’d understand if you wanted to say it fast and get it over with quickly.”
“Genius,” Chris said, rising from the table, “the one thing I do not intend to do with you is ‘get it over with quickly.’ ”
Bored
, Einstein blinked.
Great, thought Melanie as she fingered the smooth
edge of the laptop. A computer with an attitude. That’s all I need. “Lighten up, Einstein. I’ve got a lot of things on my mind right now.”
Like what?
“Like it’s none of your business, that’s what.” She glanced at the door to Chris’s bedroom. A minute ago she’d heard the muffled hiss of the shower beyond that door. Now the sound had stopped. He’d be coming back into the living room soon, coming back to tell her—with killing kindness—that he thought she was a wonderful person and a competent business partner, but when it came to romance—
I’m still bored
, repeated Einstein.
Melanie threw up her hands. She couldn’t deal with E’s whining and her own problems at the same time. “All right,” she said, looking around for a solution. The nearby entertainment unit caught her eye. “Okay, I’ll plug your auxiliary cable into the stereo receiver. You can listen to the radio.”
I’d rather watch TV
.
“Well, the TV’s across the room, and your cable isn’t long enough to reach it.” She unrolled the slim, coaxial cable from the back of E’s laptop and fitted it into one of the speaker connections on Chris’s stereo system. “There. How’s that?”
It’s not the Shopping Channel
.
“E, you can’t always get what you want in life,” she said, thinking silently that she should heed her own advice. She might as well face facts: Chris had megabytes of respect for her, but as a friend and coworker, nothing more. Why else would he have invited her out for drinks and dinner to “talk”? She’d had this particular conversation enough times in her life to know what was coming. Once again she’d botched the romantic equation.
She slumped into the chair in front of Einstein’s monitor, wondering how she was going to make it
through the next few hours. Chris meant more to her than all the other men in her life combined—more than anyone, in fact, except Einstein. Too late she realized that her physical infatuation with him had matured into a deeper, truer, and much more disturbing emotion. Chris had stepped out of her dreams and turned out to be a hundred times more incredible than the hero of her imagination. Be careful what you wish for, for you shall surely get—
“Melanie, get away from that keyboard!”
Startled, she looked around and saw Chris crossing the room, wearing khaki slacks and a stormy expression. His hair was still wet from his recent shower.
“I thought I heard you talking to Einstein,” he said angrily.
“I was just—”
“You were just retesting the tests we finished earlier. Honestly, I leave the room for one minute and you’re back fiddling with that computer.”
“I was not fiddling,” she stated defensively. “E was bored. I plugged him into your stereo so he could listen to music. That’s all.”
Chris looked at the computer, noting the cable that stretched between the laptop monitor and the entertainment cabinet. He put his hands on his hips and shifted uneasily on his bare feet. “Humph,” he commented.
Melanie smiled, thinking how much he looked like a bull who’d just missed the matador’s cape. There was still a lot of little boy in the man.
Chris caught the smile, and his harsh expression softened. “How about it, Einstein. Is that what Melanie was doing when I came in?”
Affirmative, dude
.
“See,” she said, laughing. “I told you.”
Chris rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. You two
could be in on this together. Einstein, how about giving me a sample of that music?”
Piece of toast
, E flashed, using his usual skewed allusion.
Melanie automatically opened her mouth to correct him, but stopped before she uttered a word. In answer to Chris’s request Einstein turned up the volume on the stereo system and filled the room with music, the same evocative reggae sound they’d danced to the night before. In a rush of sensations Melanie noticed how close Chris stood to her, how he smelled of fresh soap and spice after-shave, and how water still matted the damp hair on his naked chest.
He reached down and took her hand, pulling her gently to her feet. “Dance?”
Chris’s sure actions made his question a statement. He didn’t intend to give her a choice in the matter. And as his strong arms pulled her into a close embrace, Melanie realized she wouldn’t have wanted one.
They danced, bound together by the sizzling heat of the music and their own building passion. Last night on the crowded dance floor had been a prelude. Tonight, in the privacy of Chris’s living room, their movements became bolder, more intimate. Caution, her saner mind warned, but that warning evaporated in the demanding heat of her desire. Melanie shivered as Chris’s knowing hands caressed her body, lingering provocatively on her waist and in the sensitive hollow in the small of her back. His touch scorched her, burning her skin, and setting off dozens of small explosions within her.
“Melanie,” he said, his breath a hot whisper against her hair, “that perfume you wear. What’s it called?”
“I don’t use perfume.”
His hands stilled. “Oh, Lord,” he groaned, “that’s just you?”
“Well, yes,” she said hurriedly, hoping he wasn’t too disappointed. “Perfume seemed an unnecessary expense, what with Einstein’s parts and—”
Chris drew back, his eyes rich with laughter. “Genius,” he said as he cupped her face in his hands, “shut up.”
His mouth covered hers in a gentle caress, filled with promises. Slowly his tongue traced her lips, drawing a whimper of pleasure from her throat. Her whole body shook with the sweet agony of his kisses. This can’t be happening, she thought as his lips traced a searing path down the side of her neck. How could this be happening?
She was fast losing control, but there was one question she needed to ask. She hated asking it, but she had to if there was to be any honesty between them. “Chris, you’re not doing this out of pity, are you?”
He looked at her, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Pity? Does
this
feel like pity?”
Again he kissed her, but this time there was no gentleness in his caress. His tongue ravished her, consuming the softness of her mouth as his hands explored the curves of her body. He drank her sweetness like a parched man drinks water. He kissed her thoroughly, completely, and when he was finished she fell against him, weak with desire.
Chris spoke, his words muffled against the dark silk of her hair. “I’m crazy about you. You thought the presentation was keeping me up at night. It was you. I can’t stop thinking about you—about how you’d feel in my arms, how you would taste when I kissed you … how it would feel to make love to you.”
“Yes,” she breathed, nuzzling against the warm
strength of his chest. This was what she’d wanted, all she’d ever wanted. Ecstasy filled her, invading every part of her body and fueling her fierce need for him.
He raised his hand, stroking her soft cheek with profound tenderness. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. But don’t worry. I know you’re not very experienced. We’ll take it slow—”
“Slow? I’ll give you ‘slow.’ ” She reached up and twined her fingers around his neck, bringing his mouth down to hers in a wild embrace. She poured every ounce of passion, dreams, and frustration she’d felt during the last few months into that kiss, and when it ended it left them both spent and shaken.
A new light came into Chris’s amber eyes, and Melanie feared she’d gone too far. That fear was extinguished when he swept her up and started determinedly toward the bedroom.
“We’ll miss dinner,” she said, laughing.
“To hell with dinner,” he answered as he continued to rain light kisses on her face and hair.
Joy bubbled up inside her. The impossible had happened. Chris wanted her. It was her every fantasy come true, only better because—